


The Sinking Ship ; The Grand Applause

by thousandyearwitch



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, Character Study, Crack Treated Seriously, Divorce, Does this count as a character study dfksljh, Emotional Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Oneshot, Pariston gets hurt the documentary, pariging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thousandyearwitch/pseuds/thousandyearwitch
Summary: Ging didn’t look like the kind of company that Pariston would keep. And he didn’t keep him. Because no one got to keep him.----A look into the Engagement, Marriage, and eventual Break up of Pariston Hill and Ging Freecss.
Relationships: Ging Freecs/Pariston Hill
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	The Sinking Ship ; The Grand Applause

Pariston liked the city. He liked the constant noise, the different sights, sounds and smells to take in. But most of all he liked the people, in all their beautiful and vile variations. From the up-and-coming popstar that was wearing her new wealth on her sleeve, to the plain elderly gentleman covered in scars sipping calmly on some whiskey, a high-end restaurant like this one was a beautiful gathering ground for personalities of all kinds.

He wondered what others saw when they looked at him, what they would notice first. His blond hair that he tried to comb to perfection? His newest suit, a vermillion designer piece with a subtle sparkle in just the right light? His spotless black leather shoes?  
Or the man seated across from him, whose palm he was mindlessly tracing with a finger, dressed in an ill fitted cheap suit, 5 o’clock shadow with tired eyes and wild hair?

Ging didn’t look like the kind of company that Pariston would keep. And he didn’t keep him. Because no one got to keep him. He was always on the move, always enticed by some far away treasure he wanted to discover, some dusty cave he wanted to explore.

When they met for the first time, introduced through Netero as if it were an arranged playdate, Ging smelled of the sea, salty and airy. The time after that, he smelled of the jungle, all moist earth rich wood.

But nowadays he smelled more of the city, because even though Pariston couldn’t keep Ging, he stuck around on his own accord. His trips had gotten shorter, merely days before he’d reappear on the others doorstep, asking for coffee, a shower, and a bed. Going out for dinner together had become a weekly ritual, other days just spent in Paristons apartment cooking together.

No one expected the two of them to get along so well, but they formed a terrifying team during Zodiac meetings, personalities coiling around each other in pointless arguments that could go on for hours, driving the other Zodiacs mad (Something the two of them greatly enjoyed). It was after one of those hours long pointless discussions, that Gings hand had lingered for just a second too long on the nape of Paristons neck, their eyes locked on each other like hunter and prey.

“What’re you thinking about?” Gings rough voice pulled Pariston back into the moment, and he finally stopped tracing circles into the open palm.

“Our first kiss.”

“Getting nostalgic already?” Ging smirked, and Pariston just let out a light laugh, his head tilted to the side.

“I’m too young and handsome to be nostalgic about anything.” He looked out of the large window of the restaurant, onto the rainy city below. It was most likely one of the last spring showers before the summer would unfold. A bitter taste spread through his mouth, though his smile didn’t fade.

“Are you going to go out to sea this year again?” He thought about Ging leaving and he didn’t want to sound insulted or clingy, though he was also thinking about an empty apartment and boring evenings.

“Would you miss me?” Ging was obviously hiding something, his smirk widening in satisfaction.

“I’d miss your cooking, not your pile of dirty laundry.” They laughed, and Pariston mindlessly intertwined their fingers.

“I’m not leaving, Paris.”

“You aren’t?” He felt Gings grip tighten around his fingers, and his beautiful golden-brown eyes mustered him like a hidden treasure, only meant for his sight. _Don’t you ever dare look away_ , Pariston thought, _I want these eyes only for me, only on me._

“If you’ll let me stay, I will.” Gings thumb started tracing circles over Paristons individual fingers, slow and patient starting with the thumb. “I could cook whatever you’d like for you, and we could get kicked out of every single restaurant in the city.” Index finger. “We can watch all those art movies you like, and all the documentaries I like, comfortable on the couch.” Middle finger. “If I end up missing the sea, we can just rent a beach house at the coast.”  
Ring finger. “If you’ll have me.”

“Ging?” The room fell silent, as Ging left his seat and went down on one knee, holding Paristons hands as if it might break from just a slightly wrong touch. In his free hand, a sparkling golden ring.

“Pariston Hill, will you marry me?”

From the young popstar, to the scarred man at the bar, to all the waiters in the restaurant, everyone’s eyes were on them.  
But Gings eyes were only on Pariston. _As they are supposed to be._

He hesitated for a moment, taking in the transfixed faces of the onlookers, as if his decision would affect their life in any way. The only one who didn’t seem tense was Ging, fully aware that the other one would want a scene, for better or for worse.

Finally, he presented his fingers with a satisfied smile, eyes glistening as his _fiancé_ slipped the ring upon his finger.

_“Yes, always yes.”_

And as the crowd started clapping, and Ging kissed Paristons lips so sickly sweetly, it hit Pariston.

_I won’t be able to keep this_.

* * *

Being married wasn’t bad. The ceremony had been a small, private celebration. Neither Pariston nor Ging were exactly thrilled to invite family, so they chose not to. Pariston insisted on having the picture that was taken during their vows framed and hung in the living room, as a proof that Ging could look presentable if he tried, and Ging would kiss him and tell him that he’ll try again next time they get married.

Not much had changed from their regular lives. They were already sharing a bed, the little possessions Ging had were already spread throughout the apartment, and they were still taking their time discussing formalities during Zodiac meetings (Though the other Zodiacs would testify that it had gotten worse).

But somehow it still felt more intimate now whenever Ging would absentmindedly kiss the ring on Paristons finger or refer to him in passing as his “Husband”. Neither ever got tired of that word. The first few nights after they had officially gotten married, Pariston would roll over in bed, and ask for Ging to say it again, just to hear his voice and know its real.

“You’re my Husband.”

“Again.”

“You’re my Husband, and I love you, Paris.”

“Again.”

“My Husband needs to let me sleep if he wants French toast in the morning.”

“That’s fair~”

Pariston started getting used to being a morning person, bribed with a fresh espresso and breakfast of his choice. Old habits die hard, and Gings biorhythm clock would chase him out of bed at 5 am the latest, leaving his husband half asleep in bed until breakfast was ready to be served.

“Am I spoiling you too much? You probably already forgot how to cook yourself.”

Pariston tugged a napkin into the collar of his suit as not to let any maple syrup soil it. “Why would I need to stress myself with cooking, if I have a husband who’ll do it so lovingly for me~”

“I’m afraid you’re gonna starve to death, or just start living off of greasy take out, next time I leave.”

“Just don’t leave. Or at least take me with you.”

They didn’t look at each other, and the room fell cold. _He wants to leave._ The blond discarded his Napkin and stack of half-eaten French toast, followed by a lax wave of the hand. “Just kidding.”

Before his husband could reply, he had left the apartment. Newly appointed vice chairman, his very own agency, Zodiac work; He had a lot on his plate to keep him busy and distracted, because he was an efficient, capable worker. Chairman Netero didn’t seem to mind that his new right hand had a tendency to take on tasks beyond his position, and never questioned any ulterior motives, despite an obvious difference in political opinions and directions.

The night Pariston came home after their small confrontation, Ging greeted him with a set of car keys, both of their things packed, and a smirk.  
“Come to the coast with me.”

* * *

Ging seemed happier at the beach house. He didn’t seem unhappy back in the city apartment, but after a few weeks by the seaside, his skin tone had gotten richer, his smile more radiant, his eyes brighter. He smelled again like the first time that Pariston had met him, and every kiss had a faint salty smell to it. They started eating more fish, freshly caught by Ging each day.

As his husband started to thrive, Pariston withered. He thought himself a fool for moving closer to the mistress of the love of his life. Because no matter how often Ging would say he loved him, he saw his golden eyes search across the horizon.

“You’re my harbour, Paris.” He’d whisper in his ear, tired and drifting. But he didn’t want to be a harbour. He didn’t want to be a place to come back to after weeks to months out in the world. Ging wasn’t as much of a fool as others made him out to be, he wouldn’t get himself killed out there, he’d always come back safe.

But Pariston wanted to keep him safe right here. Not let him escape, refuse his longing for the mysteries that other places keep.

He pulled his husband closer to him and pressed a kiss on his messy hair. “More of a prison, really.”

* * *

_It was bound to happen,_ he thought to himself, _all good things must come to an end._

_The signs were all there._  
It was the last few days of the summer, a golden autumn reared its head in the distance, Ging had gotten quieter. Going out for fishing took longer and longer. Every kiss felt agonizingly long and sad. But he said everything was fine. Denied any hurt or misplaced feelings. All Pariston could do was hold him tighter at night, his fingers tangled in unkempt black hair. “Please don’t hurt me, Ging,” his voice unheard in the darkness of their bedroom “Or I will have to hurt you worse.” 

* * *

Pariston awoke alone in the big bed, his husbands’ side already cold. It was dead silent in the house. His chest tightened as he left the bedroom and stepped into the large living area.  
He hoped to find Ging cooking. Maybe ask how he’d like his eggs this morning, an espresso already waiting for him.

Empty. The house was cold and empty.

The first autumn rain started hitting against the windows, a gentle pitter-patter quickly escalating to large, loud droplets that sounded like bullets on impact with the glass.

Slowly he walked towards the dining island, on it a single card with Gings signature crude handwriting.

_“I’m so sorry.”_ Next to it, his wedding ring.

_This was bound to happen_ , echoed in his head. Pariston took the abandoned ring, mustered all the little details of wear on it. Just as he brought the cold material to his lips, he noticed the tears rolling down his cheeks.

_This was bound to happen, and it still hurts._

The rest of that day, Pariston let his practiced perfect-ness slip, hidden from the judgement of the outside. He drank the bottle of wine the two of them had bought on the day of their engagement, there was no need to save it anymore, and he sat on the couch that the two of them had shared for many loving moments, and he cried.

But as the sun crept up the horizon again, the mourning period was over.

He cancelled the contract on the beach house and hired a moving company to bring his things back to his apartment in the city. The beach house was infested with Gings smells and memories, and there is one reliable way to deal with an infestation.

He threw all of Gings possessions, clothes and pictures and books and trinkets, on the beach, and burned them. The large flame of the fire complimented the darkening horizon, and he took a picture with his phone, committed to send it to Ging as soon as he got hold of his new number.

Back in the city, he put all his time into his work, into his political standing and power in the association.

Ging was bound to return, and Pariston needed to make sure he’d return to see Pariston thriving. Thriving and in more control than he’s ever been and maybe ever should be.

_It still hurts, and I will hurt you back._

**Author's Note:**

> Personally I love suffering.  
> Thank you for reading, any critique is welcomed. <3


End file.
